Crossing Borders

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “No, but it wasn’t really safe or well thought-out,” said Michael. “Would you want to hear your sister say that?”

  “I’m a man, Michael. Stop comparing me to a girl.”

  Michael splashed him a little. “You’re young, Sparky, and slim and delicate in your coloring. Sure, you shave, but not much, not like I do. You still have baby hands,” he said, holding one up, the pruny fingers white and soft and freckled. “Look, no veins.” Michael held his own up by comparison. The veins were prominent, the multiple scars he’d gotten from woodworking and construction like a tracery of white lines against the tan background. “All I’m saying is that when a guy like me looks at you, as innocent as you are, as genuine, as naive, he feels protective. Someone else may choose to exploit you.”

  “I see.”

  “I can do anonymous, Sparky, I can show you what you want to know,” he whispered.

  Tristan froze. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. I think I may have a really long, slow learning curve.” Tristan couldn’t look at him.

  “Mmmhmm, that’s what I thought,” said Michael.

  “Um, you’d probably better, you know, plan on spending some time with me. It could be months before I get it right.”

  “Maybe more.”

  Tristan could feel the easing of tension in Michael’s body and hoped it was because he’d gotten the answer right. “So, if you don’t want to invest that kind of time with me, then maybe that’s something you ought to say right up front,” said Tristan. “Because I can do, like, anonymous, but it wouldn’t be my first choice. Anymore.”

  “Sparky?” said Michael, turning him and kissing him so deeply that Tristan started seeing spots in his field of vision. “Anonymous isn’t even on the menu anymore, okay?”

  “Oh, okay.” Tristan was relieved and frightened all at once. “So, then, what is on the menu?”

  “You, my redhead, are going to” ‑‑ he whispered a word into Tristan’s ear that made the blood drain from Tristan’s face, then return with a rush of heat that singed his eyebrows ‑‑ “me through the mattress.” As if to illustrate his point, he slid Tristan’s naked body over his own, rubbing their cocks together briefly, aided by the silky bath oil he’d added to the water. “Feels good. You’re gonna make me fly, right, Sparky?”

  “Oh, I…yeah…I hope so.” Tristan bit his lip. Michael looked happy, so that was good…right?

  Chapter Six

  Okay…okay, get a grip. I’ve done this before, Tristan thought as he dried himself off with one of Michael’s awesome, luxurious bath towels. He wasn’t exactly stalling for time, but he wasn’t hurrying, either. He’d asked for this, schemed for it, planned for it, and gotten it, but in reality, it wouldn’t be as easy as he thought to slide between the sheets and just screw the man. Michael had left him alone in the bathroom, presumably to put their clothes in the wash or something, and would wait for him in the bedroom. Tristan was grateful for the privacy. He carefully hung the dirty towel up on a hook, looking down at himself. Thoughts like, maybe he wasn’t the most manly guy he’d ever seen, whirled around his confused head.

  Tristan had gotten a good, long look at Michael as he left the bathroom, and now his heart thudded painfully from sheer nerves. Michael was beautiful. Smart and funny and sexy and everything Tristan had ever wanted. He was caring and powerful, and at the same time gentle and oh-so-hot. Tristan was afraid he’d do something stupid and uncool like launch himself at the man like the winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. He sat down hard on the lid of the toilet.

  Okay, it’s official, he thought. I’m gay. I’m a done deal. He put his head in his hands and just sat there. He was no way going to be able to do this without shaming himself, or Michael, or all of their collective ancestors.

  “Sparky?” called Michael’s voice from the hallway. “You aren’t losing your nerve, are you?”

  On the money, Detective Helmet. “Just a minute.”

  “Can I come in?” asked Michael, sounding concerned now.

  “Sure.” Tristan heard the door open.

  “Usually people use that with the lid up,” teased Michael, coming over to hunker down in front of him. He drew Tristan’s hair back like a drape and held it in his hands. “You’re under no obligations here, you know.”

  “I know that.” Tristan leaned into Michael’s hand.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Seriously, dude, did you just hear yourself? I thought once I went over to the dark side I’d never hear those words again.”

  “Sparky,” warned Michael. “No jokes, what’s up?”

  Tristan took Michael’s face between both his outstretched hands and kissed him gently. “I never wanted anything in my life more than I want to be really, really good for you.”

  “What?” This obviously wasn’t what Michael had expected to hear.

  “You’ve already taken me places light-years more amazing than I’ve ever been before, Michael, and I want to do that for you too…I just…” Tristan bit his lip.

  “Shh… Let’s just go, okay? Let’s just go together. We can do that, right?” He stood up, and with a friendly smile, took Tristan’s hand and led him to his bed.

  They slid between the sheets, which were soft and silky against Tristan’s naked skin. Michael’s touch began a slow burn in his body that was sensual and crazy. Tristan’s pulse beat everywhere, his blood thrumming endlessly through his veins as Michael kissed him and stole his breath. He began to explore Michael hesitantly, feeling heat come off Michael’s skin in waves. He touched and teased, licked and bit his way all around Michael’s willing body, turning him this way and that, finding new and exotic destinations with every movement of his head, his hands, even his feet. Every cell in his body tingled with awareness, as if they were whispering his lover’s name in his blood. Dazed, he looked down at Michael from where he lay on top of him, his long red hair forming a curtain around their faces.

  “How do you want it?” Tristan whispered, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to shatter the magic of the moment.

  “I want to see you,” said Michael. “I want to watch your face.” He reached under the pillow for lube and a condom, and held them out for Tristan, who took them from him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” said Tristan, in an agony of indecision. He understood the concept, but…

  “Here, look, okay?” Michael said taking Tristan’s hand. He separated Tristan’s index finger and put a generous amount of lube on it. “It’s this first, yeah?” he said, raising his eyebrows at Tristan, who almost couldn’t keep from looking away. “Then this,” he said pulling up the second finger. “Then this,” he pulled up the third, until Tristan was looking at the three fingers on his own hand, right in front of his eyes. “Then it’s you, and you make me fly.”

  “Oh, my…” said Tristan, still looking stupidly at his fingers. “Make you fly.”

  “Yeah, baby. I want you ‑‑ you know that, right? Like today sometime, maybe?” He smiled such a sweet smile Tristan had the absurd idea he could lick it off like candy.

  Tristan looked back at his fingers, slick with lube, shining in the candlelight. “Today sometime…”

  “I’ll tell you a secret ‑‑ there’s a surprise inside.” Michael laughed and watched him through lowered lashes.

  Tristan looked down at him. “A surprise? What the hell…”

  “We’ll both know when you find it,” said Michael. “We’re going someplace only you can take me, right? I want that; I want you. Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me.”

  Tristan looked at his hand again and then at Michael’s eyes. “When we make love, you will call me Tristan,” he commanded. “Sparky makes me sound like a damned firehouse dog.”

  “We’ll see how you do first,” said Michael, issuing a teasing challenge. “I like you, baby, want to feel you inside me… Ready?”

  “Yeah.” Tristan took the lube and condom from him. “I am.”

  Tristan slid the covers o
ff them and moved down over Michael’s body, kissing and licking his way to the warm and secret places he had yet to explore. He fingered and played with Michael’s dick, loving the smooth, hard feel of it in his hands, turning it and lifting it, letting it leak onto his hands, teasing the veins and the ridges and the slit at the top with his tongue. He tasted the salty skin and the slightly bitter, briny fluid, and moved beneath it to the crinkly blond hair on Michael’s balls, so fascinating in their sac. He mouthed them as Michael had done to him, first one and then the other, drawing a surprised gasp and a slight moan from the man himself. He moved them and licked backward from them, down the long strip of sensitive skin to the puckered hole he found there. He flicked his tongue against it, hardly daring to breathe for fear Michael would stop him, but he heard a sharp intake of breath and nothing more, so he did it again, wanting to feel, to touch, to taste every part of this man.

  “Sparky,” said Michael, his voice a little hoarse, a little shocked. “You don’t have to…”

  Tristan nipped the skin lightly, shutting him up. He lifted his still-slick index finger and slowly, almost reverently, slid it into the tight pink hole until it reached the first knuckle. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said to Michael, needing to connect as he made each minute discovery on Michael’s body. Tristan experienced every ripple and quake of Michael’s skin with a focus of laser-like intensity that heightened his own pleasure until his skin glowed with sweat, and he was breathing as if he’d run a race.

  “You can’t hurt me,” Michael repeated, taking Tristan momentarily away from his intense concentration, surprising him a little.

  “Hm?” Tristan slipped his finger in further, moving it tentatively around, and getting a satisfied moan for his efforts. “Oh, good.”

  Tristan moved the finger again, in and out, until Michael was moving with him, meeting him. Tristan used the lube to slick the second finger, and he slid it in with the first. Michael shifted, sighing, and Tristan pushed a little harder, working him now with his hand, allowing Michael to push back to meet his thrusting fingers. When Michael moved against him, Tristan pushed his face into Michael’s golden skin, wanting to inhale and devour him. Never in his life had he wanted anyone this badly.

  “That’s so good, Sparky,” said Michael. He patted Tristan’s head where it lay on his thigh, where Tristan watched his hand gliding in and out of his lover’s body. Tristan couldn’t take his eyes away, watching his fingers, watching Michael’s cock jerk as he stroked him from the inside. It was the hottest thing Tristan had ever seen. He slicked up the third finger and slid it past the tight ring of muscle to join the first two.

  Michael moaned and thrashed a little, his head going side to side as he rocked against Tristan’s hand. “Yes,” he sighed. “Sparky, yes.” He caressed Tristan’s hair with the same rhythm Tristan was using to stroke him. His hips lifted and jerked as he took Tristan’s fingers inside and squeezed them so tightly Tristan thought he’d die with longing to feel that on his cock. He wiggled his hand experimentally, curving his fingers upward, and Michael’s hips shot off the bed. Michael bit down hard on his lower lip.

  “Found it,” said Tristan, hitting it again and again, as Michael writhed and moaned beneath him.

  “Sparky!” Michael cried out, his voice a warning and a plea. “Now, please.”

  Tristan opened the condom package and wasted no time getting it rolled over his cock. “I’m going to…you know…” said Tristan. “Coming in, okay?”

  “Go,” said Michael, between clenched teeth.

  Tristan pushed into him, each second of resistance followed by each exquisite sensation of yielding adding to the fire already burning inside his body.

  “Michael,” hissed Tristan, kissing his lips and moving slowly inside him. He pulled out, almost his whole length, and then pushed back in, loving the feel of the tight channel embracing his hypersensitive cock. Michael rippled and trembled beneath him, the sensation, the squeezing heat like nothing he’d ever experienced.

  “Hard, Sparky,” said Michael. “Push me hard…I want to feel you tomorrow…next week.”

  Tristan responded by setting up a rhythm of hard, sharp, shallow thrusts, changing his angle till he felt that jolt of pleasure go through Michael as it had done when he’d used his fingers.

  “My name is Tristan,” he said over a particularly aggressive jab. “Call. Me. Tristan,” he said, using his body for punctuation.

  As Tristan nailed Michael’s gland time and time again, Michael started to call out to him, closing his eyes and stroking his own cock, pushing back hard against Tristan, urging him on with a litany of words, some sexy, some vulgar, and some that were just nonsense.

  Tristan pounded into him, his balls slapping against Michael’s ass crack. Looking for a better angle, Michael moved his legs over Tristan’s shoulders without losing contact, which allowed Tristan to watch as Michael stroked himself sensually as if his pleasure was building along with Tristan’s.

  “Good,” grunted Tristan. “So good. Come for me, Michael. Come on my cock, let me see it.” He wanted to see that beautiful dick come rockets of hot liquid on Michael’s tan stomach. The thought made his eyes cross and his flesh burn. He wanted to see that…could already smell it and taste it on his tongue.

  “Tristan,” cried Michael, looking him right in the eye. “Harder… Harder, Tristan…”

  Tristan slammed home, and Michael came in his own hand, the white cream ribboning onto his chest. Michael’s head dropped back, and his eyes closed as he bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

  Tristan was a goner as soon as he saw Michael come. Nothing could have prepared him for how beautiful Michael became when he slipped over the edge in pleasure. “Michael.” Tristan’s hips snapped harder in response, his rhythm broken, his hips jerking of their own volition.

  Michael’s hole fluttered around him, his muscles clenching as he rode his release.

  “So beautiful…Michael… You are so beautiful…” Tristan filled the latex a short second later, feeling the heat swirl around him inside Michael’s body, burning him alive.

  His energy gone, Tristan collapsed, still inside Michael, letting the man’s legs fall gently to the bed. Sticky warmth squeezed between them. Without thinking, he kissed and licked Michael’s lips where they’d been bitten, feeling the warm blood on his tongue.

  “Michael,” said Tristan with wonder, tasting blood and salty, sweaty skin and something unknown that was just Michael. He hissed as his limp cock slid from Michael’s body.

  Rolling with him, Michael held him fast, not responding as words were inadequate to describe how he felt. Instead, he wrapped himself around Tristan, showing him with his body that it was good. He put a hand between them, slipping the latex off Tristan’s cock, tying it off and throwing it in the trash. He felt Tristan sigh where he lay bonelessly in his arms.

  The intensity of the experience rolled over Michael in waves. He stroked and rocked Tristan in a state of slight shock, still trembling in the aftermath of the best orgasm of his life. He had meant, as the older, wiser, and more experienced of the two, to show Tristan the ropes, as it were, to aid him and build his confidence. He clung to Tristan even as he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Life was full of irony. This boy, this cocky college sophomore with his freckled, white baby hands and soft-as-a-girl’s skin owned him. Owned him.

  It was a lot to take in.

  Michael sighed, realizing that Tristan’s breathing was even, and his facial features were lax and childlike. Michael kissed his sleeping lover, stroking the silky red hair off his face. He’d be damned if he’d stare at that beautiful sleeping face all night, he thought. Yet, Michael yawned, maybe just for a few more minutes, so he could commit this to memory, in case. Just a few more minutes…

  Chapter Seven

  By three in the morning Michael knew he wasn’t going to sleep and that his study of the boy/man sleeping beside him was bordering on the obsessive. He decided to get up and grab a snack, maybe s
omething they could both eat in bed, and move the laundry from the washer into the dryer. He fixed a quick plate of things to nibble, cheese and meats and some veggies with ranch dressing. He padded around the house, checking locks and windows. Picking up the food and a couple of water bottles, Michael finally returned to the bedroom.

  When he entered it was to find Tristan sitting up in bed with the blanket around his shoulders. Michael placed the food on the nightstand and climbed in beside him.

  “All right?” he asked.

  When he didn’t get an answer, he put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder, only to find it icy and trembling. Tristan’s whole body shook under his touch, and concerned now, Michael drew an unresisting Tristan to him. The boy melted into his warmth, sinking into him like a frightened animal.

  “Hey,” said Michael, stroking his hair. “Hey.” When Tristan didn’t answer him, he asked gently, “Regrets?”

  “Iacta alea est.” Tristan buried his face in Michael’s neck. “Go figure. I remember that on the night when I’m having the hottest sex of my life.”

  “Really? The hottest sex of your life?” Michael grinned, but when Tristan growled at him a little, he tightened his arms. “I…what does it mean? Beyond habeas corpus and ex post facto, I’m a little weak in Latin.”

  “It means ‘the die has been cast.’” Tristan was shaking less, and Michael, taking this as a good sign, kept him talking. “That’s what people say when they’ve done something…irrevocable.”

  “You know, people don’t really say that, Sparky,” he couldn’t help mentioning. “It’s kind of…”

  “Obscure, I know. I’m babbling.” He took a deep breath. Michael just stroked his back in circles, keeping contact. Tristan leaned into his touch, soaking it in like a sponge. “I’ve crossed the Rubicon,” he sighed. “It was a World Civilization multiple choice question. A. Crossed the Rubicon, B. Played with dice. C. I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”